Vicky stopped by the shopping centre after work. The head accountant’s anniversary was coming up, and her team had asked her to pick out a gift. She’d spotted a few things, taken photos on her phone, and planned to show her colleagues the next day to decide. Riding the escalator down to the ground floor, she couldn’t wait to escape the crowds and get some fresh air.
“Vicky?!” a woman’s voice called out.
She turned left, scanning the faces of people moving upward, but didn’t recognise anyone.
“Vicky!” the voice came again.
Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted a girl with fiery red hair clumsily descending the still-rising steps.
“Wait for me downstairs! Don’t leave!” the girl shouted.
Vicky stepped off the escalator and waited. The shock of bright red hair vanished briefly at the top before reappearing as the girl dashed downward, elbowing past strangers. The hair was so distracting it was hard to focus on her face.
“Sophie!” Vicky gasped, recognising her stepsister.
“Yeah, surprise! I’ve been wandering around town hoping I’d bump into you. Knew it’d happen eventually.” Sophie gestured toward the food court. “Let’s grab a coffee or something.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Two weeks already. So glad I found you,” Sophie said with genuine warmth.
They chose a café and sat. Vicky studied her stepsister—vibrant ginger hair, thick clumps of mascara making her lashes spike like pine needles, lips painted red to match. Her delicate features gave her a doll-like, almost cartoonish prettiness. At just four years younger, Sophie should have been around twenty but dressed like a teen in a pleated mini-skirt, sheer tights with black knee-high socks, chunky white trainers, and a denim jacket hanging open over a cropped pink top.
People kept glancing their way.
“You look amazing,” Sophie said.
A waitress set down menus. Sophie immediately ordered pizza, cake, and coffee while Vicky stuck to just a latte.
“Starving,” Sophie groaned. “Lucky you—you can eat anything and stay slim. I’m stuck on eternal diets.”
“Really?” Vicky raised a sceptical brow. Sophie had always been skinny.
“You haven’t seen my mum. Weighed a tonne, easy. No wonder Dad left her. Good genes on your side, though. Do they do beer here?”
“Ask, but I won’t—I’m driving,” Vicky said.
“You’ve got a car? Brilliant! Listen, any jobs going at your work? Still hunting.”
“How’ve you managed two weeks without one?”
“Robbed Dad,” Sophie giggled. “He’d just drink it anyway. After you left, he went off the rails—lost his job, scraped by on odd jobs. Then he shacked up with some dinner lady who smuggled food from the canteen. Total mess.”
Vicky listened, stunned. Not that she should be surprised. She’d never liked Sophie’s dad, but when Mum brought him home, she’d dismissed Vicky’s objections as jealousy. He came with Sophie in tow. Vicky was in her last year of school, preparing for uni.
They’d clashed from the start. Sophie took Vicky’s clothes without asking, ruined them. Mum always defended her: “You’ve got plenty—don’t be greedy. Sophie never had a mum.” Vicky knew Mum just wanted peace, but it still stung. Then came the winter Mum was diagnosed. Four months later, she was gone.
Her stepdad expected Vicky to work straight after school, but she fled to the nearest city. She’d been secretly saving from her allowance since before Mum died. Got into uni, lived in halls, worked nights at a fast-food joint. After graduating, she landed a proper job. Lived frugally, bought a flat within a year. Met Daniel at work—they’d been together two years now. He’d helped her get a second-hand car six months back.
“Any qualifications?” Vicky asked, snapping back to the present.
“Seriously? School was a struggle. Worked at a corner shop. Dad lost it after the booze got him fired. Came here to escape him and his new drinking buddy. No future back there.”
Vicky smirked. A corner-shop girl with no prospects—hardly shocking.
“What job are you after, then?”
“I’d make a great receptionist. Your boss single?”
“Married. And he’s got one.”
“Shame. Won’t do cleaning, just saying,” Sophie muttered as her pizza arrived.
“If you need cash, who cares if you’re filing or mopping? But I’ll ask.” Vicky had no intention of letting Sophie near her office. Bad idea.
“Seeing anyone?” Sophie pressed. “No ring.”
“No, but I’ve got a boyfriend. Two years together—we’re planning to marry.” A lie. Daniel stayed over often but lived with his sick mum, didn’t want to burden Vicky.
Sophie wrinkled her nose. “Thought you were smart. If he hasn’t proposed in a year, he won’t. First year or forget it.”
“Since when are you the expert?” Vicky glanced at her ring—a delicate band with a small diamond. Daniel had bought it in the Netherlands, matching earrings too. Sparkled under any light. Colleagues complimented it constantly. Proof he loved her. But she didn’t say that.
“It’s a diamond,” she said.
“So he’s rich?” Sophie paused mid-bite.
“Not at all. He just loves me.”
Sophie gave her an odd look, then dropped her gaze.
“You? Got a bloke?” Vicky asked.
“Looking. Was with someone…” She sighed. “Won’t settle. Want a rich one—flat, car, the lot.”
Ah. Gold-digging. Good luck with that outfit, Vicky thought. She finished her coffee, eager to leave but knowing Sophie wouldn’t let her.
“Got to go.” She signalled the waitress. Sophie didn’t protest Vicky paying despite only having coffee.
“You’ll ask about jobs?”
“Yeah.”
Outside, memories flooded back. Just Mum and her for years after Dad left. Then Mum brought Sophie’s dad home. Vicky never trusted him.
When Mum got sick, Vicky blamed them. Doctors said it was advanced cancer, but logic didn’t ease the guilt. Stepdad started drinking. Somehow, Sophie never found Vicky’s hidden savings—her escape fund.
Time to say goodbye.
“Vicky, you renting?”
“No, mortgaged.”
“Wow. Can I crash with you a bit? Till I find work.”
“Where’ve you been staying?” Knew this was coming.
“Mate’s place.” Sophie looked away. “Need out.”
Vicky hesitated. Letting Sophie in meant no privacy with Daniel. But those sad puppy eyes…
“Get in.”
Sophie beamed, darting into the passenger seat.
“One-bed flat. Fold-out sofa in the kitchen. That okay?”
“Course!”
Sophie slept or scrolled her phone all day while Vicky worked, then vanished nights, reeking of smoke and booze. “Clubbing for men,” Vicky guessed. Two weeks passed—still no job.
“Any luck?” Vicky finally asked.
“That’s my line,” Sophie shot back.
“Only cleaning going. Not your thing, right?”
“Tired of me? Kicking me out?”
“No, but I like my space. Clubbing’s pricey—surely you can afford rent?”
“Lads pay for me.”
“Obviously.”
Daniel asked when she’d leave. Vicky visited him, but intimacy was awkward with his mum nearby. She complained Sophie was leeching off her. Then she found a stain on her favourite dress. Sophie swore she hadn’t worn it. Liar—she’d always stolen Vicky’s clothes.
“Could work at a fast-food place like I did. But mooching’s easier.”
“Let me talk to her,” Daniel offered.
One evening, the doorbell rang. Sophie—wearing tiny shorts and a tight top—answered before Vicky could.
“Blimey,” Daniel said.
Sophie batted her lashes all through dinner, “accidentally” brushing against him. Vicky stormed off. Then came a shriek.
She rushed in to find Daniel gripping Sophie’s wrists.
“Stop. Your act doesn’t fool me. Had enough of freeloading? Jobs exist—you just don’t want one. Failed to trap a rich bloke, so you tried me?”
“Ow! Let go!” Sophie whimpered.
“What’s—” Vicky froze.
“He attacked me!” Sophie whined.
“Liar. You came onto me the second Vicky left. Out tomorrow—or I’ll dump your stuff in the street myself.” He released her. Sophie rubbed her red wrists.
Vicky stayed silent. Sophie fled.
“Don’t follow her,” Daniel warned.
Drawers slammed.
“Steal anything and I’ll know,” he yelled.
Later, SophieSophie stormed out with her bags, and Vicky never saw her again—though she sometimes wondered if that shadow passing by a shop window was her stepsister, still wearing her stolen clothes, still playing the same old game.
